The Weight of the Unspoken
There is a language that exists entirely without sound. It is the language of the bowed head, the folded hand, and the heart that has finally stopped its restless wandering to simply be. We spend so much of our lives projecting our needs outward,…
The Unfolding Fabric of Time
I keep a small, silk ribbon in a cedar box, the color of a sunset that has long since faded into grey. It once belonged to a dress I wore as a girl, a garment that felt like a second skin during those long, breathless summers when the wind…
The Weathering of Stone
Lichens are the patient cartographers of the natural world, slowly colonizing bare rock and breaking it down over decades, even centuries, into the soil that will eventually sustain a forest. They do not hurry the process; they simply exist…